Sorry For The Cropping I Just Gave Up LOL But Here Have Some Toji Folks

https://x.com/asagi__strn/status/1904511812403351686?s=46

ushi is so cute this fan art is adorable, baby ushijima will always get me in that one episode where he is drawling OMG

ty for the tag nensi!

ntp: @miiyas @dearru @bakery-anon @stellar-headquarters

LETS MAKE A WEDDING CHAT

Search on Pinterest and choose the first that pops up

Spouse(yk the drill anime character>first one that pops up)

Wedding venue

Wedding dress/suit(depends what you want to wear)

Maid of honor(anime character>first or second girl that u see, depending on who u get as spouse)

Best man(random character>first or second guy you see, depending on who u get as spouse)

Cake

HERE'S MINE

Chaos ensues.....

GET WITH THE PROGRAM GANG KSKSKWKS

@dimsumo @psyzcraze @shoudakii @mixolya @kenyuukisser @fishii28 @ayatakanosstuff @megumismyhusband @mims-bshelf @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @ohagiyoo +AYONE ELSE WHO WANTS

Brazil Oikawa🇧🇷

✘ RED THREAD OF FATE ; kirishima eijirou. “i can’t believe i found you again.” / “i knew you would.”

synopsis : people get divorced and ten-year-old best friends move away, abruptly severing all contact. oh, and some people are brought back together by pure, absolute fate. content : no quirks + band AU. profanity. alcohol + drug mention and consumption. 20-yr-old! reader/kirishima. lgbtq+ characters. past substance abuse.

taglist is open - please fill out this form. smau/traditional. specific cw added at the beginning of each chapter. no update schedule. punk kiri, denki, bakugou, mina, dabi, shigaraki, etc.

❪ TRACKLIST ❫

romance ・ 2025 ・ ۝ earier

● 1 Ribs ; prologue by Lorde.

● 2 Tba

● 3 Tba

R!ot Rev!val

kirishima eijirou, lead vocals ; bakugou katsuki, drums ; sero hanta, bass ; mina ashido, keyboard ; denki kaminari, electric guitar.

think: greenday, p!atd in its prime, fall out boy, the all-american rejects, as it is, set it off, fall in reverse, get scared, we the kings, yellowcard.

“The Girls”

y/n l/n, kits and kaboots / uni student ; toga himiko, kits and kaboots ; touya “dabi” todoroki, bartender ; shigaraki tomura, bartender.

think: forcing the boys into face care nights, shared cigarettes on the balcony, loudly singing in crowded cars, platonic cuddling, constant eye rolling.

LAST SEEN WITH:

I COULD BE ENOUGH, ATSUMU MIYA

DESCRIPTION: four years ago, you broke up with atsumu. out of fear or out of hope for his future, you’re not sure. running into him in the grocery store was never planned, but neither was you getting pregnant, right?

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: teenage pregnancy. pro vball player!atsumu. profanity. a little bit of angst. hidden pregnancy. flower symbolism if you squint. hamilton references (not sorry for this). 21-24 yr old!atsumu. implied marriage.

word count: 1,998. (shoutout to @pmgranate for beta reading).

“atsumu?”

the man in front of you looks nothing like the boy you once knew. taller, broader, more rugged than you ever imagine him to be—but the smile on his face is more familiar than anything else you’ve ever experienced. there’s another man hanging on his shoulder, a wide grin on his face as well. he’s shorter, bright orange hair falling messily against his forehead. he looks vaguely familiar as well, but you can’t think about anything other than the fact that atsumu is standing right in front of you.

“y/n.” his smile falters slightly and he squares his shoulders, seemingly trying to make himself look bigger. “uh, hey. holy shit, yeah, hey. i didn’t know you . . .” he trails off, gaze dropping to the little brunette girl tugging on the hem of your hoodie. “oh, i mean crap. sorry, didn’t see her. are you, uh, babysitting?” he shrugs and you can tell he’s trying to make small talk, trying not to make things awkward.

“mommy, can i get candy?”

his eyes widen, and so do his friends. “mommy?” he repeats quietly, meeting your eyes again. “you-“

your palms start to sweat. you’ve imagined this day thousands of times, practiced what you were going to say, but now, as the moment finally arrives, you’re speechless. with no words to explain yourself, you turn to your daughter, smiling softly. “of course, sweetie. do you want to meet my friend first?”

she looks up at the two men and nods. she’s always been shy when meeting new people—you suppose she got that from you. “hi,” she whispers, waving at them.

“dude, she looks-“

“hi,” atsumu says softly, cutting off his friend. he crouches down to her height and lets out a shaky breath. “i’m atsumu. what’s your name?”

she hums and wraps her arms around one of your legs, trying to hide behind it. “ayu. you’re my mommy’s friend?”

“mhm.” he nods, glancing up at you for a moment. “we met a long time ago, probably just a little bit older than you. how- uh, how old are you?”

she looks up at you and you bite the inside of your cheek. you reach down, lifting her up and settling her on your hip. atsumu stands as you do so. “she’s four,” you say, refusing to meet his eyes. “almost five; next month.”

you see gears turning in his head. he was never good at math, but the moment it clicks for him, his face drops. he opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat. he looks at his friend, who looks confused. your daughter puts her face in your neck and lets out a yawn. you hadn’t even realized it was almost one o’clock—past her nap time.

“listen,” you start, finally looking at him, “my number hasn’t changed. i know what you’re thinking and-“ you sigh. “and, yes, you are. i need to get her down for a nap, but we’ll . . . talk about this. i know it’s a lot to process.”

he blinks at you, his jaw slack. you pick up the basket you had previously sat on the ground and smile, tight-lipped and brief. “goodbye, atsumu.”

[atsumu, 2:01 PM]: Can I come by on Saturday? It’s Atsumu btw You probably knew that

yes. does 12 work for you?

[atsumu, 2:07 PM]: Yeah  See ya then

on saturday, you wake up early and deep clean your house. ayu wakes up when you start vacuuming, and you would feel bad if she didn’t look so adorable with her bed head and puffy cheeks. it reminds you of atsumu—how she sleeps like a rock, drooling and snoring. you put on an outfit that makes it look like you kind of have it together and sit on the couch with ayu until your doorbell rings at 12:17 in the afternoon.

your head whips towards the door, chest rising and falling imperceptibly faster. ayu doesn’t look away from the TV, too engaged in the episode of bluey playing on the screen. you stand, albeit a little wobbly, and walk to the door. before opening it, you take a deep breath and exhale out of your nose.

it’s now or never, right?

“hey,” atsumu says as you open the door, sounding breathless. he’s holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand, his other tucked into the pocket of his beige pants. the hoodie he’s wearing looks familiar and worn—he’s had it since high school, you think. he holds out the flowers to you and smiles sheepishly. “i, uh, got you these. i don't know if that’s . . weird, sorry.”

you take them with a smile. “orchids are my favorite.”

“i know.” his eyes soften and your knees feel weak. it surprises you that he’s still able to make you feel this way even after all these years.

you stand there for another moment, just staring at each other, but a loud noise from the TV snaps you from your daze. “oh, um, yes, come in, please.” you step to the side and he walks in, eyes set on ayu, wrapped in a blanket.

he turns to you as you close the door. “so,” he hesitates, wiping his hands on his pants. he’s just as nervous as you are. “she’s, um, she’s mine? i- i mean i’m her . . . dad?”

your smile falters. you knew you were going to have to talk about it, but you weren’t quite as prepared as you thought you were. you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and walk across the living room in the kitchen. atsumu follows.

“i got pregnant in the middle of our third year,” you start, reaching up into a cabinet to pull out a vase. you turn to the sink and start filling it with water. “i knew that you were on track to become a professional volleyball player, but i also knew that you . . . that you would have dropped everything to support ayu and i.” you pause, spacing off as the water fills the vase. water dribbles down the side, pricking your fingers, and you sigh, turning the faucet off and turning to him. “volleyball was your passion—is your passion. i didn’t want to prevent you from chasing your dreams. so i broke up with you. i hid my pregnancy under big jackets and, well, i gave birth to ayu just as i started university. it was hard taking care of a bag by myself—uh, my parents . . .” you trail off hoping he gets the point.

he swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing as he does. he nods, gesturing for you to continue. you’re not sure he knows what to say. you wouldn’t.

“i had to drop out to get a job and care for ayu.” your gaze drifts to your daughter, sucking on her thumb. you’ve tried to get her to stop, but nothing seems to work. “i’m not . . .” again, you sigh. “i’m not telling you this because i want anything from you, atsumu.” you look at him and nearly melt. his eyes are glossy with tears; he’s always been emotional. “there was no more hiding it after running into you at the store.”

he looks down at the floor, fingers twitching at his sides. it’s quiet for a long, long moment. finally, he looks back up at you, brows furrowed. “y/n, you should have told me.”

“i know,” you sigh. you place the flowers in the vase and stare at them for a second. “i just- you would have quit volleyball, gotten a job at some minimum wage place. you . . . that’s who you are, atsumu.  you . . . you would have been a good dad, but you’re an amazing volleyball player.”

“i can still be a good dad.” it comes out almost involuntarily, you think, based on the look on atsumu’s face after he says it. “i- i mean.” he swallows and takes a step. “i’d like to, if you’d let me. i already missed four years—nearly five. i don’t want to miss any more.”

your brows furrow, but not in frustration or confusion. the emotion swirling in your stomach is one of indescribable feelings. you sigh quietly and walk around the island to the living room, gently sitting on the edge near ayu.

“hi, sweetie.”

she looks at you and smiles, wide and innocent. “hi, mommy.”

“ayu, do you remember what i told you about your daddy?” you’re so afraid, so scared that this won’t work out. scared that you’ll run away again. scared that atsumu won’t want to do this once he finds out how hard it is.

she thinks for a moment, humming quietly. “that he was- was off on an adventure.” she doesn’t quite say adventure right, but you don’t correct her.

“yes, exactly.” you nod. you glance back at atsumu and nod your head towards the couch. he takes tentative steps and sits down on the other side of ayu. “and you remember my friend from the other day? atsumu?”

she nods, eyeing the blonde hesitantly.

“okay, that’s good. you’re so smart, ayu.” you smile and pinch her cheek lightly. she giggles, swatting at your hand. “atsumu, do you want to . . .”

his eyes widen a fraction and fear flashes across his face. okay, he’s scared too, you think. he turns to ayu and opens his mouth. nothing comes out. he blinks at her, eyes roaming her chubby face. “i’m . . . back from my adventure?”

you can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out. atsumu sends you a panicked look and it only makes you laugh more. “atsu, just be truthful.” the nickname slips out before you even have time to think about it.

he smiles nervously and takes a deep breath. “ayu,” he starts. she looks at him, eyes wide and curious. “i’m your dad.”

there’s a beat of silence before ayu looks at you and juts her bottom lip out, eyes glossing over. “he’s back from his adventure?” she whispers, lip wobbling. when you nod, she looks at atsumu and stares at him. “hi, daddy.”

he barks out a laugh, wet and involuntary. “hi, ayu.”

“daddy, i want the purple one!”

the image before you is picturesque. your daughter, on the hip of your soon to be husband. they don’t seem to care that seven is too old to be carried, and, honestly, neither do you. 

after the day that it all came out, things fell into place quite easily. atsumu was in your life again, dropping by unexpectedly, always with a bouquet of orchids. you started bringing ayu to his games—she always cheered the loudest for him. and somewhere along the way, atsumu became more than just ayu’s dad. late nights on the couch, sharing leftover pasta, reminiscing high school memories. somewhere along the way, late nights became staying the night. sharing pasta became sharing kisses. reminiscing became making new memories.

like this, a weekend at the zoo. you had spent over an hour at the tiger exhibit—ayu’s favorite animal. she rattled off fact after fact and atsumu listened to every single one, even if they were wrong.

“okay, princess, we can get the purple one.” atsumu reaches out and snatches a purple teddy bear off the shelf. he turns to you and winks and you feel your face heat up. “what should we get for mommy, hm? you think she wants a matching teddy bear?”

ayu hums and glances around the store before pointing at another shelf, full of tiger plushies. “we should get her a tiger! she loves tigers.”

you walk up to them, first placing a kiss on ayu’s cheek, then atsumu’s. “i love tigers,” you confirm with a nod. “and i love you.” you reach out and pinch her cheek and she giggles, squirming in atsumu’s arms.

“aw,” atsumu pouts, jutting his lip out dramatically. “what about me, huh? you love me too, right?”

“maybe.” you shrug playfully. he smiles widely and leans forward, pecking your lips quickly. “okay,” you relent, “fine. i love you, i suppose.”

he hums, eyes softening. “good. i love you too.”

more geto with piercings

navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! the mha EP!

"TELL ME NOT TO" — Bakugo Katsuki

a/n : being a girl means rewatching your childhood tv shows when you’re depressed, I missed one tree hill sm

warnings : alcohol, everyone is 18+, inspired by one tree hill

content : 3rd year Bakugo. f2l. mutual pining. fluff

Graduation night feels like the end of the world—but in a good way.

The Class 3-A dorms are packed, the air thick with heat, music, and the bittersweet kind of joy that comes when everything is about to change. Everyone’s too loud, too drunk, too alive. Mina’s dancing on the couch. Kaminari’s spinning a bottle like it’s a roulette wheel. Someone’s passed out on the stairs.

Truly, you love your classmates and you love this chaos. But right now, you need a breather.

You slip outside barefoot, still warm from the inside out, the bottle in your hand nearly empty. The grass is cool beneath your feet, soft and wet with the tail end of spring. You take a deep breath of it all—the quiet, the dark, the distant hum of music behind you—and smile to yourself.

Then the door opens. You don’t turn. You don’t have to, because you know it’s him.

“Took you long enough,” you call out, voice light, teasing. “Didn’t know I was supposed to babysit your ass all night,” Bakugo mutters. You spin around, walking backward now, grinning at him over the top of your bottle. “You weren’t. But you always end up doing it anyway.”

His eyes narrow, but his expression is too relaxed to be annoyed. He’s got that lazy look he only ever gets after two drinks—when the sharpness of him softens just enough to show the version he keeps hidden. His skull shirt is rumpled, damp with something spilled, his hair more chaotic than usual. He looks like he’s halfway through pretending he doesn’t want to be near you.

You raise your brows. “You’re tipsy.” He scoffs. “I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk aren’t you.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

His mouth twitches—and for a second, you think he might actually smile.

But then you hear it. A low hiss. The faint hum of pressure building in the ground. You freeze just slightly, eyes flicking to the sprinkler heads lining the edge of the lawn. Your grin spreads like wildfire. “Oh my god,” you murmur. Bakugo blinks. “What?”

And then—You shove him right into the spray.

PSHHHHHHT.

Cold water explodes out of the sprinklers, nailing him straight in the chest. He stumbles back, half-jumping, half-growling, already soaked. “What the fuck!”

You double over laughing. “I told you you were drunk, your reflexes didn’t work !” you say to him. “You’re dead,” he snaps, and then he’s coming for you.

You shriek, laughing too hard to run properly, skidding across the grass as the sprinklers rotate, catching you both in random bursts. You dodge one spray just to get nailed by another, and now you’re soaked—your dress clinging to your legs, hair stuck to your forehead, mascara probably halfway down your cheeks.

Bakugo’s chasing you across the lawn like it’s a damn battlefield. “You think you’re funny?” he yells.

“I know I’m funny !”

“You’re an idiot !”

“But I’m your idiot !”

His laugh slips out before he can stop it. It’s low and surprised, like he didn’t expect it himself. You catch it—catch the exact second it happens—and it hits you harder than the water.

Because it’s real. Because Bakugo never laughs like that. You slow a little, just enough for him to catch you.

Your laughter cuts off as his arm hooks around your waist, dragging you backward, off balance, legs slipping in the soaked grass. You’re weightless for half a second before you crash down into the lawn, the cold seeping through your clothes instantly—but it’s not harsh.

He lands half on top of you, one arm braced beside your head, the other still around your waist, holding you steady like the ground might give out. Water from the sprinklers mists over you both in waves. Somewhere, someone’s still shouting from the party. But here? It’s quiet.

His chest is rising and falling against yours. His shirt is soaked, clinging to every line of muscle, and your fingers are curled into the fabric without realizing. His hair is dripping, blonde strands stuck to his forehead, water trailing down the edge of his jaw.

You’re both breathing hard. And for once… he’s not pulling away.

His eyes find yours—narrowed just slightly, like he’s still caught somewhere between disbelief and something much deeper. His scowl is gone. In its place is this bare awe that steals the air from your lungs more than the fall did.

Your voice comes out low. Playful, but softer now. “I win.” He huffs, barely a laugh. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You like it though"

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his gaze flicks down—quick, instinctive—to your lips. And then right back up. But you saw it.

And the way he’s looking at you now, it’s like he’s finally letting himself see you. Not just as the friend he’s joked with, sparred with, stayed up too late with—but as the person he’s been falling for slowly but hard. The one thing he never let himself touch.

Until now.

You whisper it before you can second-guess, “You’re gonna kiss me or what?” His eyes flicker, and for a beat, he just stares. Like he’s trying to memorize everything—your soaked dress, your flushed cheeks, the way you’re not pushing him away.

“Tell me not to,” he murmurs. It’s not a threat. It’s a warning. A plea. You don’t say a word, you just lean up. And that’s what he needed to meet you halfway.

The kiss is urgent. Messy in the way only first kisses can be—especially ones that have been waiting way too long. His lips crash against yours with no warning, no hesitation. He tastes like cheap liquor and rainwater and something you’ve been craving without even knowing it.

There’s nothing gentle about it—at first. It’s heat and release and finally, all tangled into one moment that feels too big for your chest. But then—he softens.

His hand moves from your waist to your cheek, fingers brushing water off your skin like he wants to memorize the shape of your face. His mouth slows, moving over yours with more intention now, like he’s realizing he gets to have this. That you’re real. That you’re not pulling away.

And you kiss him back like you’ve been waiting for this since day one. Because you have.

His thumb brushes the corner of your jaw. Your hand slides up into his wet hair, tugging gently. You can feel the way his body melts into yours, feel the sigh he lets out against your lips like he’s been holding his breath for years.

He pulls back, just far enough to breathe, and for a long second, neither of you says anything.

His forehead is still resting against yours, breath hot and uneven, fingers still curled tight around your waist like letting go isn’t even an option. Your lips are swollen. Your pulse is loud in your ears. You can still taste him.

You open your eyes—and he’s already looking at you. Not like your best friend. Not like a maybe. Like someone who’s been drowning in almosts for a year and finally—finally—got air. “Shit,” you whisper, because that’s all your brain can manage.

He exhales a soft laugh, eyes dropping to your mouth, like he’s thinking about kissing you again. Like he might never stop.

One more second. One more heartbeat. Then he murmurs, voice rough and quiet: “Took you long enough.” You smile. “Shut up.”

And you kiss him again.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i @andysteve1311 @feelya

atsumu miya - 320 words.

atsumu knows he’s screwed.

the second you laugh at his joke, fingers brushing his chest as you lean forward, he knows he’s absolutely screwed. later, osamu will tease him for how red he got, but he’ll brush it off with an indignant roll of his eyes.

from that moment on, atsumu’s familiar cockiness melts away in your presence. he stumbles over his words, avoiding eye contact. his jokes fall flat, and yet you still laugh every time. suna tells him you’re way out of his league and atsumu shoves his shoulder playfully, reluctantly and internally agreeing.

some random day after school, to his surprise, you ask him to walk you home. he has practice, but he skips the first half for you. kita is gonna tear him a new one—he can’t find it in himself to care. he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground as you talk to him, too nervous to meet your eyes.

when the first dribbles of rain hit the ground, he curses. you both make a run for a nearby bus stop, where there’s a roof, and stand there for a quiet moment.

“i love the rain,” you say eventually, letting out a soft sigh.

he glances over at you and the look of absolute wonder leaves a pang of joy in his heart. you look so . . . ethereal. suna was right; you’re so out of his league.

“especially when it’s warm out,” you continue. you reach your hand out, letting the water fill your cupped hand before pouring it. you turn to atsumu with a giggle. “do you like the rain?”

he hesitates, enamored by the look in your eyes. “yeah,” he answers, breathless. and, really, he doesn’t. it’s cold and wet and it sucks. but you like it. and he likes you. and he would stand with you in the rain forever if it meant seeing that look on your face.

hinata would love this 😞 or osamu ngl maybe sakusa..

ntp: @dearru @kissunday @wordsofelie

. . . .

this is so funny because i REEK of jasmine and vanilla (<- as told by my peers). [link.]